


The Arching Road

by Speakfire



Category: King Arthur: Legend of the Sword (2017)
Genre: Drama & Romance, Eventual Romance, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-13
Updated: 2021-03-11
Packaged: 2021-03-13 19:40:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,720
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29407059
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Speakfire/pseuds/Speakfire
Summary: Arthur is settling in as King, while The Mage keeps an eye on things from a distance.  When he asks her for a favor, it will make the future even more uncertain.This story starts out and builds on movie and historical canon but will eventually venture into AU (because the Mage is not Guinevere).  Also, Merlin is played by John Cleese, because seriously I think he'd make an amazing Merlin.
Relationships: Arthur/The Mage (King Arthur: Legend of the Sword)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 14





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I'm a dumb American, so if I get some of the English dialogue wrong, I'm sorry! This has not been Beta-read so please excuse any typos. Multiple chapters are finished and in the queue, and this story has been on my mind since I first saw the movie about a year ago. I'm hoping that starting to post the finished chapters will jump start my writing ju-ju.

He finishes wiping the oil cloth across the surface of the massive round table and looks up at where she perches in the rafters, watching him through eagle eyes as she’s done off and on in the weeks since his coronation. “Our first gathering is at noon in three days. You should come.”

She flutters her wings, disconcerted. It’s the first time he has spoken to her in this wildform—the first time anyone has, for that matter. He’s still looking at her as though waiting for an answer, so she warbles in acknowledgement. 

“See you soon,” he says, slinging the rag over his shoulder and strolling out of the room. 

She arrives on her palfrey about an hour before the gathering is set to begin. The royal guards don’t question her identity, just let her pass. A boy dressed as a page is loitering on the steps in the courtyard and when he sees her, dashes down the stairs. “They didn’t think you’d make it, but Art said you’d come.” Blue’s enthusiasm is infectious enough that she gives him a quick smile in return. 

A stablehand holds the reins long enough for her dismount while Blue chatters away, “Things have been crazy since the coronation. You heard the Vikings came, right? Wow, that was tense! Then all the Barons came by to swear fealty. I don’t like them, they all look at Arthur like he’s something they scrape off their boot. I think half the bloody kingdom’s been by in the past week. Here, I’ll help you with your stuff, we’ve got you a room—you are staying here for a while, right?”

“For the night, at least.” She really has no idea why she’d need to stay longer. 

The boy is visibly disappointed, but recovers quickly, and helps her gather her meager belongings. By the time he shows her to her ostentatious chambers and back downstairs to the conference room, everyone is taking a seat at the round table. She pauses in the doorway, waiting to see which spot will be left for her, but Blue takes her hand and leads her forward. “You’re right over here,” he informs her, pulling out the heavy chair and waiting for her to sit before taking a step back.

‘Over here’ turns out to be to the immediate right of Arthur, who is just pulling out his own chair. “Glad you could make it,” he murmurs, his bright blue eyes skimming over her. “We’ll have to catch up later.” Then he straightens up and his commanding voice calls the room to order, “All right, that’s quite enough out of you lot. Shut your traps so we can get this started.”

“Right-o, cause the sooner we get started, the sooner we can get to the eating and drinking,” jibes Wet Stick—or Sir Tristan, as he’s now known, eliciting chuckles from the other men at the table. There’s only one other woman besides her, the noblewoman Maggie, who had risked her life spying for the resistance while under Vortigern’s rule. 

“Nice job on the table, Your Majesty,” Goosefat Bill comments, smoothing one hand over the polished surface. “Not sure why we needed another table though, God knows there’s plenty of other tables in this bloody palace.”

Arthur sits down in his chair and states, “No, we need this table, and I’ll show you why. Look around you, all of you.” He glances at Sir Percival, who is seated to his left, and then at her, before looking forward again. The others do the same, before turning their attention back to Art, when he continues, “At this table, no one is greater than anyone else, no one is lesser either. We are all equals here, we all have a voice, we all have something important to contribute. Vortigern spent more than twenty years screwing over this damn country and draining the coffers dry building his damn tower, and it’s up to us to get this shite cleaned up and setting things straight again.”

No one says a word, because he’s right. 

“So then, now that we understand what we’re here for, let’s get started.” 

Three hours have passed before Arthur finally adjourns them, during which they’ve eaten, drank, and argued over everything from taxation to sanitation. They’d likely have gone on for longer had it not been for Bedivere bringing up the fact that some of the barons were already wondering when and whom Arthur would marry to secure his lineage and hold on the British throne. 

“For fuck’s sake, I’ve been King for all of a month and you’re already trying to marry me off?” Art exclaims incredulously.

Bedivere shrugs and raises his hands as though warding off an attack, “Do not kill the messenger. I am just letting you know that there’s been some talk.”

“And suggestions, while we’re on that subject,” Bill relays, wagging his brows. 

Maggie opens her mouth only to be interrupted by Arthur, who rises to his feet. “And thus ends the first meeting of the Knights—and Dames—of the Round Table. We’ll meet again in a fortnight, and work on getting some of these plans we’ve made in motion.” He stalks out of the meeting chamber and a pair of royal guards hurry after him. The others at the table look at each other and start to rise as well, albeit much slower. 

The Mage remains where she is, watching in wistful silence as they start to disperse in groups of two and three, chatting and bantering with each other as they go. She envies their easy camaraderie. She hasn’t said a word since she sat down more than three hours ago, not that anyone’s noticed or cared, other than Arthur. He glanced at her on a number of occasions with an air of expectation when people made suggestions or complaints. Running a kingdom is outside her meager range of experience however, so she said nothing and ignored his thinly veiled disappointment at her reticence. 

Only when the others have left does she finally get to her feet, and start to make her way back to her room. 

“Mage? I mean, ma’am? Art—I mean, King Arthur would like a word before you shove off to your room.” Blue’s brow furrows as he regards her, “I just realized, no one ever told me your name, I’m sorry.” 

It’s been so long since she’s been called anything other than ‘Mage’ that it takes her a moment to reply. “Nicola.” 

“Nicola,” Arthur echoes from the archway, slowly, as though testing the name out. Walking closer, he gives a brief nod of approval. “I like it. It suits you.”

Does it? She’s not sure about that anymore. Nowadays she identifies more with what she can do as a Mage, than who she is as Nicola. 

Art tousles the boy’s dark hair with affection, “Thanks, Blue. You can take a break until supper tonight.”

“Thanks, Boss.” The newly minted page gives them a proper little bow before scampering out of room. 

The two adults watch him go before Arthur—King Arthur, she reminds herself, rests his hands on the back of the chair she had been sitting in and states without preamble, “Tomorrow, I will issue a royal decree that puts all Mages under the protection of the Crown. It will give them the same rights and protections granted to all loyal subjects under My rule.” 

The unexpected proclamation has her blinking back sudden tears. While she had hoped he would do something, anything, to help their plight, this is so much more than she would ever have hoped for. 

He turns his head to give her a sidelong glance, “Do you think it’ll do any good? Or is it too little, too late?”

It takes her a moment to find her voice. “Not at first. But yes, in time.” She swallows hard, wiping at her damp cheeks before whispering, “Thank you.”

Art’s blue eyes are warm and kind when he straightens up, “You thirsty?” Without waiting for a response, he walks over to a side table and pours two cups of wine from the clay pitcher there. Offering her one, he takes a swig of his own before admitting, “I don’t really know much about Mages, other than from rumor. Since you still don’t have a beard, I’ll take them with a grain of salt. Are there a lot of you in hiding?”

“No. Not many at all.” In truth, she has no idea how many Mages are left. Twenty-five years of persecution under Vortigern’s rule have taken their toll. She knows she’s not the last one, but at times, she very much feels all alone.

“Where do you Mages come from, anyway?” 

She can’t help quirking a mischievous eyebrow at him and he barks a quick laugh. “Walked right into that one, didn’t I?”

Hiding a smile behind the edge of her cup, she takes a sip. The wine is very good, fit for royalty, in fact, but she had no appetite during the meeting earlier and she knows a few sips of this will be enough to make her drowsy, so she puts the cup down. “Mage gifts are passed through blood, usually. A handful, like your uncle Vortigern, have enough of a spark in them that they can be trained in the arts.”

That gets his interest. “Could you teach me?” 

She takes a moment to consider what kind of man he would be, wielding the might of Excalibur while infused with wild magic. He’s already a formidable man in intellect and physique. As a Mage, he would rival the gods. But. “No.”

“Damn.” He is visibly disappointed, but shrugs it off. “Is there anyone here you could teach?”

Nicola hesitates before replying, “There is one, yes. The boy.” 

“The boy? You mean Blue? Are you putting one over on me now?” he demands, eyeing her with suspicion.

“The spark is in him. I knew it the moment I met him. Just as I knew it was not in you.”

“Damn,” Art says again, rubbing the back of his neck as he digests that information. “You could start training him though? Here at the castle?” When she nods, he wonders, “What kind of things would he be able to do? For that matter, what exactly can you do, besides take over animals and summon giant snakes. Just so you know, I still don’t like snakes. No offense.” 

A tiny smile curves her lips. “None taken. Different Mages may have different gifts,” she explains slowly, unused to talking so much and about matters so personal. “I am very good with animals…”

“You know, I almost put a bird perch at the table instead of a chair, just to see your reaction,” he teases. 

She snorts in response and continues, “I can divine things. Sometimes I can see a clearer path to the past, the present… even the future. It is how I could tell how and why you struggled to control Excalibur.” Her gaze drops to the sword where it’s strapped at his hip. He keeps it at arms reach at all times now, as he should. “Mordred was a powerful conjurer. Merlin could shapeshift into the most wondrous things. There’s healing magic and protective magic as well, of course. Dreamwalking. Who can say where Blue’s gifts will lay? It could be any one of those, or something else entirely.” 

Arthur, however, has latched on one thing in particular. “You can see the future?”

Suddenly regretting her uncharacteristic chatter, Nicola worries her lip. “Sometimes I can. It is… quite difficult. The future is….fluid. Uncertain.” 

“Did you know I would end up here? As King? That I’d fight Vortigern?” 

Nicola picks up the wine cup again, needing to do something with her hands as she considers her response. “It was one possible outcome,” she finally admits, “but it was not the only possibility. If Vortigern had won….” The mug in her hands trembles and sloshes wine around the edges when she recalls the vision of Camelot in ruins and a dark tower shadowing everything in fire and smoke and blood.

Warm hands encircle hers, gently extracting the cup before she drops it all together. “I saw. The Lady in the Lake showed me,” Arthur gives her hands a reassuring squeeze. “No need to worry about that anymore, is there? He’s dead, I’m right here, and I’m not planning on going anywhere, all right?”

She exhales a shaky breath and nods, peering up at him. He’s a whole head taller than she is but his bulk is comforting, not intimidating as she might have expected. 

A discrete cough comes from the archway. 

Nicola starts, quickly pulling her hands away. Arthur seems unsurprised by the interruption, but his voice is tinged with a hint of impatience when he speaks. “Yes, Bedivere?” 

“Baron Umber is here to meet with you as requested, Your Majesty.” 

“Tell him I’ll be along in a moment.”

The dark man’s face is carefully blank at the dismissal and he gives a formal bow before withdrawing.

“Worst bloody thing about being King is all the damn interruptions,” Arthur growls with a wry grin, but it is quick to fade. “Have you seen anything else in my future I should know about?”

“I haven’t looked,” she confesses, rubbing her hands along her arms as though warding off a chill, even though it’s quite temperate in the castle. “It… takes a lot out of me, so I must be careful when and where I do it.”

“Well,” Arthur returns and gestures around them, “I am pretty sure this is quite possibly the safest place in the entire Kingdom, so…”

He’s right, of course. Nicola nods with reluctance and says, “I will need time to prepare. It is best to do it at either sunrise, or sunset, as the day starts or ends.”

“At Matins, then, the day after tomorrow, if that’s enough time for you.” At her agreement, he goes on, “The castle won’t be nearly as busy that early. I’ll come to your antechamber. If you need anything, have Blue fetch it for you, he’s got quite a knack for that sort of thing.” He gives her a blinding smile as he makes his way toward the door where his honor guard patiently waits. “I’m glad you came. We could use some sanity around here.”

She watches him go, stomach churning a mixture of excitement, dread, and no small amount of hunger. If she doesn’t eat before the ritual, she’ll be out of it for days, so she heads off to find the kitchen. There’s much preparation to be done, and not much time to do it. 

  
  



	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Mage finishes set things up for the scrying, which will have unexpected results.

Nicola spends the rest of that day and the next preparing for the scrying. Arthur has Blue assigned to help her, which is quite the boon. There are some herbs she always keeps in her pouch, but anything she lacks, the little boy helps her find them in the castle’s well-stocked kitchens and extensive gardens. After spending the day with him, she’s determined Blue has a lot of potential to be a talented Mage. He’s intelligent without being belligerent, curious without being troublesome, and inquisitive without being obnoxious. 

Despite not seeing Arthur at all during the preparations, she has little doubt that Blue is keeping him updated on her progress. After Complines, she gives Blue his freedom for the night, reminding him again to be there at Matins before first light. He’s just a child, but she wants him to see the scrying, as they are so rarely done due to the inherent danger involved. 

She is drawing chalk inscriptions on the antechamber floor when there is a soft knock on the door behind her. Thinking Blue has returned, she maintains her focus on completing the protective sigil she is working on and just calls, “Come in.”

“Hope I’m not interrupting,” Arthur pulls the door closed, his gaze falling on the three concentric circles she’s drawn on the floor. “We missed you at supper last night. And breakfast this morning. And at supper again, for that matter.”

She doubts that. It’s not like she’s a scintillating conversationalist. “I’ve been busy making preparations.” Finishing the inscription, she gestures at the empty plate and bowl on a tray in the corner. “Besides, Blue has been making sure I eat.”

Arthur steps further into the room and she throws out a hand, warning, “Do not disturb the circle, or I will have to start all over.”

He halts immediately, looking down at his boots to make sure he hasn’t already mussed up the chalk. “Oh. Sorry about that. How close are you to being finished?” The antechamber is in quite a state of disarray. She’s pushed all the furniture against the walls to make room for the magic circle, which is about six feet in diameter and takes up a large portion of the room. 

“I’m nearly finished,” she replies, and starts to rise to her feet. Arthur edges around the circle to her and offers her a hand up, which she gratefully accepts. Once she’s on her feet again, she dusts herself off and rolls her shoulders with a wince, trying to work out the stiffness that lingers from being hunched over most of the day. 

Arthur looks at her and bites back a smile. “You’ve got chalk on your…” he gestures with a finger toward her face. 

Flushing, she wipes her cheek with her sleeve. “There, did I get it?” 

“No, just… here, let me,” he offers and swipes one calloused thumb across her cheek. “That’s got it.” Sensing her discomfort, he turns his attention back to the markings on the floor. “So what’s left then? Anything I can do to help?”

“No thank you. Truly, all that is left is for the potion to finish brewing, but your timing is excellent because I was about to come find you. I nearly forgot the most important ingredient for the potion, and only you can provide that,” she states, eyeing him.

“Only me? No one else? I’m feeling right important now,” he teases.

“Well, since you are the focal point of the augury, you are a rather important part of its success. But I need a little part of you—a lock of hair, a bit of fingernail, something along those lines.” For some reason, she finds herself blushing at the request. It seems much more personal, voicing the need out loud.

Running his fingers through his sandy brown hair, he nods, “Seems simple enough. Here, I’ll let you do the honor, since you know how much you’ll need.” Arthur hands her his belt knife.

Nicola takes the knife and tilts her head to peer up at him before gesturing at a chair. “Perhaps you should sit down so I do not inadvertently leave a big bald spot in plain view. You’re a full head taller than I am.”

“Fair point.” He sits down in one of the chairs she’d pushed against the wall earlier. “You did something similar to Vortigern? That’s who you did the scrying on before, right, to see what his future held?”

“Yes, but not like this, no,” Nicola replies, trying to figure out where a hair swath will go unmissed. She decides a small tuft from the back of his head would be best and sets to cutting it off. “I had some of his hair from when he was being trained by Modred. Merlin has a penchant for collecting odd things like that—just in case. As it turns out, it came in quite handy.” A quick slice of the knife and she’s got a small tuft of hair no longer than her fingertip. “There, that’s got it. Let me cut off a matching amount from the other side to make it less noticeable.”

Arthur holds still until she moves around him to hand back the knife and teases, “You sure you’re not taking extra to keep as a souvenir?”

She snorts, moving to drop the hair into a small clay pot. “Might come in handy, now that you mention it, for if I ever need you to do my bidding.”

He barks a short laugh at that. “Mage, if you want me to do your bidding, you need but ask.” 

His words bring another hot flush to her cheeks, though she doesn’t really know why. He couldn’t possibly mean anything by it. Flustered, she busies herself with picking up a clump of herbs to strip leaves off. “It will be ready by Matins, so don’t be late if you want to attend.”

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world.” Arthur looks over her magic circle and then back at her. “You said you have to be careful when you do this, so tell me straight. How dangerous is this?”

Nicola shrugs, “No more or less dangerous than anything else I’ve done in recent weeks.”

“Ouch. So deadly, then.” Mustering a wry smile, he points out, “Well, at least the King doesn’t want you dead anymore, right? You’re moving right on up in the world.”

A tiny smile curves her lips. “Yes, but when you’re at the bottom, there is no where to go but up, is there?”

Arthur chuckles and makes his way toward the door. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

After the door clicks shut behind him, the Mage turns back toward the magic circle and checks all her inscriptions one last time. All that’s left to do is heat up the potion and add in Arthur’s hair to brew in it, and then she can go to bed. Even if everything goes as planned, she has a grueling day ahead of her. If something does go wrong with the scrying, well, there’s a good chance she won’t be around long enough to care anyway.

Twilight is just beginning to tinge the sky when Arthur and Blue knock on her door the following morning. She slept, but does not feel rested, which isn’t uncommon before doing an augury like this. The ceremonial oil lamps are already lit, and the potion is in a rune-etched stone cup, cooling by the brazier in the middle of the magic circle, along with the other things she needs. 

“Blue, you sit here,” she directs the boy to sit behind the lamp with the yellow flame. 

“What about me?” Art asks, and she points to the blue one on the west side of the circle, opposite the child.

Blue knuckles his eyes sleepily, “Why do we gotta do this so early?”

“Four lamps, four colors, four directions, four elements. Yellow for air in the east,” she points at the lamp in front of him, then at Arthur’s, “blue for water in the west, green for earth in the north and lastly, fire is red and to the south. It is best to do this ritual at dawn or dusk, when past and future meet, when the sun rises to welcome a new day, or sets to end an old day.”

The boy is a bright child, but right now he’s also sleepy and grumpy as a result. “Why can’t I have the blue one?” he whines. “Yellow is a stupid color.”

Arthur responds before she even has a chance to answer. “Blue. Shut it.”

“Okay, Boss.” He doesn’t argue any more, but visibly sulks.

Glancing toward the window where twilight is being edged out by dawn’s eminent light, Art looks back at her and says, “Let’s get this on then, shall we?”

Nicola carefully lifts her skirts and steps over the chalk lines into the centermost circle while explaining for both of them, “Air is knowledge and comprehension. Learning new things. New beginnings. Blue is water, intuition and emotion, completion.” She kneels in front of the brazier, facing east toward the rising sun. “It is nearly time.” 

The Mage spreads around a thin dusting of black powder, causing a gentle shower of sparks to rise from within the flame. A tied bundle of herbs helps fan the sparks around, and she begins muttering the words of empowerment under her breath. After she inhales the ensuing tangy aroma, feels it work through her body, she lifts the stone cup to her lips and watches through the window as sunrise grows ever closer. Mere seconds before the curved edge of the sun breaks the horizon, the Mage drinks deeply of the thick, bitter concoction and sets the cup down before she drops it.

Arthur and Blue watch in complete silence, sensing the sanctimony of this moment.

The sun rises, and Nicola the Mage Sees visions of what may yet come. 

King Arthur on his throne. Kneeling before a cross. Setting a filigree crown on a woman of indescribable beauty with blonde hair. The woman has two faces, one looking at Arthur and the other at a handsome knight she’s never seen before. A familiar bearded old man pointing into the distance to guide him. King and Queen older, beside a cradle with cobwebs and dust. Riding at the head of a host of knights. Sacks of plunder, topped by a single goblet that is somehow just out of reach. A death ship sailing out to sea, Excalibur resting on the chest of its enshrouded occupant. It all turns to stone, weathered by time, cracked and chipped in places, but somehow yet enduring.

“The Born King has come. He finds faith, which fuels his restlessness and fervor. A woman of legendary beauty rules with him, and she is both beacon and burden. Despite her betrayals and infidelities he stays at her side. He is a conqueror who seeks a treasure he can never attain, yet he unites his people behind him as their champion. His line ends with his death, but he will live eternally in myth and legend, as long as stone stands against time.”

The vision fades and then trails down another path, another possibility in her mind’s eye. 

“The Born King has come,” she intones again, caught up in her scrying as this second augury starts the same way before it takes an abrupt and unexpected turn. King Arthur in the throne room looking down at a dark-haired woman bowing before him. “He crowns a que….” He rests a filigree crown on the woman’s head and she straightens to give him a shy smile. “No…wait…” Nicola stutters, staring aghast at the image of herself at Arthur’s side. “This… this can’t be right.” They dance a jig together in what looks like a tavern, laughing with joy, Bedivere, Sir Percival and the other knights dancing and clapping along with them. “Wait…stop. This is all wrong….” He kneels between her naked thighs in reverence while pressing a kiss against her flesh. 

She looks away. 

The vision is swallowed up in darkness, and so is she.

_Boss??! What’s wrong? Why’s she shaking like that?_

_Try to hold her legs down. Bloody woman’s stronger than she looks._

_What do we do??! She won’t stop shaking!_

_Help me with this belt. Here, get it between her teeth. There, that’s got it._

_Is she going to stop now? Why won’t she stop, Boss?!_

_Easy, Mage, easy… there you go. Easy now, I’ve got you. See Blue, she’s stopped now. She’ll be fine now. Go get Bedivere and Wet Stick. Go on, away with you, fast as you can run._

_Ok Boss!_

_Damn you, Mage. Damn you to hell and back._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the scrying, I used certain aspects of the Indigenous American medicine wheel combined with traditional witchcraft. As I am not super familiar with both, I hope readers will allow me a bit of leniency. No disrespect to any group or culture is/was intended.   
> Still no beta. Why is it that I've reread this chapter about 10 times and could not find any errors but the moment I hit 'post' they jump off the screen like grasshoppers??!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Mage wakes up to an old and familiar face after the dreamvision.

Consciousness comes one sense at a time. A light layer of smoke fills the room with a pungent aroma. Someone is humming, a deep, rich melody that her muddled brain can’t quite put a name to. The coarse feel of the bed sheets stings her skin. Her mouth is painfully dry but the faint taste of honey lingers. Her eyelids flutter, and the faint light in the room sends blinding pain shooting through her head.

The humming stops, and an old man’s familiar voice says, “There now, I told them you’d likely come to soon. No, don’t try to open your eyes until I get these candles snuffed.” She can tell through her eyelids when the light is dimmed and tentatively opens her eyes to find the room is now shrouded in darkness, with just the lingering glow of the snuffed wicks the only light that remains. 

“There now, that’s better, I’ll warrant,” he says, settling into the bedside chair again. “I know any light will hurt your eyes for a few more days.”

“Muh...muh…” Her thickened dry tongue can’t quite seem to form the name. In fact, it is difficult for her scattered brain to form a coherent thought at all.

He pats her hand gently, but it’s still enough to make her bones ache. “Yes, it’s me Merlin, my _cariad bach_. You’ll be back to yourself in no time at all. The side effects of the scrying potion, I’ll wager. I wish I could look into the future for you, but the gift of sight is something the gods never saw fit to grant me. I think you’re the last of us with it now. So what is it? Bad visions? Dark times ahead? I was hoping we were past those now that Vortigern is gone.”

Nicola furrows her brow, trying to remember exactly what lead to her current state. She knows she had planned on doing a scrying for Arthur, has a foggy memory of drawing out the magic circle in chalk. This time at least, there is no lingering sense of doom like what she had from the reading when Vortigern was still king. She shakes her head ever so slightly and then tears spring to her eyes at the resulting pain that ensues. 

A cool soft cloth wipes away the wet trail from her skin and he heaves a long sigh. “You looked away again, didn’t you?”

Did she? She has made the mistake of looking away in the past—everyone looks away at some point—but she does not quite remember what precipitated it. Even so, given her current mental and physical state, it is the only thing that makes sense. She gropes blindly for his hand in the darkness, biting back a sharp gasp of pain when she feels his weathered fingers clasp around her own.

A door opens, letting in a sudden shaft of light that Nicola instinctively shrinks away from, closing her eyes. “Whoa, what’s happened to the candles?” Blue demands, and his voice rings in her ears like an alarm bell.

“Shhhh, boy, she’s awake now but light hurts her eyes nearly as much as loud voices hurt her ears.”

“She’s awake??!” he exclaims, and it’s enough to elicit a low moan of pain from the ailing Mage as his strident voice rings in her ears. “Sorry!” he whispers loudly as children are wont to do. “I’ve got to tell Art—he’ll be over the moon!” She hears him running down the hall, growing fainter the further away he gets.

An exasperated sigh comes from the old man, who uses his body to block out most of the light. “Here, let me…” She can hear him bustling around the room and jerks as something touches her hair. “I found a neckerchief, I’m going to place it over your eyes so the light won’t bother you quite so much.” His hands are gentle as he rests the cloth over her eyelids. The coarse fabric is just heavy enough to block out all light without being unbearable where it touches her skin.

“..Aaaann….” she tries to thank him but her tongue and lips are as limp as a wilted leaf.

“Nonsense, there’s no need to thank me. I’m just glad I got here when I did, or the Mithridatium would not have done you much good at all. I had a hell of a time just talking your King Arthur into letting me into the door—quite protective of you, he is, if I do say so myself, well really everyone in the bloody castle is, so you must have made quite the impression. No surprise to me, of course, you’re quite the chip off the old block if I do say so myself,” Merlin natters away, a welcome and familiar distraction from her current discomfort. “But by the stone, Arthur has barely left your side, neither has the boy Blue. Hah! You should have seen him when that clodpated castle physician came in here with a bowl of leeches to do a bloodletting, the young man nearly skewered him from stem to stern with Excalibur, oh it was quite exciting! I thought for sure the ruckus would wake you but alas, twas not to be. If it wasn’t for the fact that those jobbernowling barons were about to start a bloody war with each other over sheep grazing rights of all things, he’d probably have been in here when you woke up. Ah, I’ll wager that’s him I hear coming now—among others. Let me thin the herd, so to speak.” 

He moves away from her, the door sliding on its hinges as he slips out of the room. The steps of approaching people rings through the stone to her oversensitive ears, one set more prominent than the others. “Here now, you can’t all just go barging in there at once. The girl’s awake, but she’s still very weak and in a great deal of pain to boot.”

“Get out of my way, old man,” Arthur growls.

“Of course, your Majesty, as you will.” The old man’s response toward the King is deferential, even amiable. “But for the rest of you lot, surely the word of your King on her condition will be enough to suffice until she’s feeling up to more visitors?”

“He’s right,” Sir Bedivere agrees, ever the voice of tempered reason. “Arthur, if you will please give her our regards, and tell her we look forward to seeing her on her feet soon.”

She senses, rather than sees, Arthur’s presence in the room and shifts her head ever so slightly in an attempt to locate him. “I’m here,” he says from her left side and a moment later she feels his rough fingers take her hand. It makes her joints ache but she doesn’t care. “Blue said something about the light hurting her?” That question is directed at Merlin, who has joined him at her side.

“All of her senses are on fire right now. Loud voices or noise will hurt her ears, light her eyes. The sheets that lay ever so lightly over her skin is probably still causing discomfort--perhaps even pain. A side effect of the scrying potion she took, of course.”

Art’s hand on hers loosens instantly at the old Mage’s words, but Nicola tightens her grip as much as she can. She doesn’t think her fingers do more than twitch in his, but it’s enough that he doesn’t remove his hand. “What the hells was in that damn thing?” 

“Oh, a number of things really, but truly most of what you are seeing is a side effect of the belladonna.” 

“Belladonna? As in the damn poison?” Arthur asks through gritted teeth.

“The very same, but everything in moderation, my boy. A fascinating plant, isn’t it? Ingesting minute amounts in combination with certain other herbs help heighten one’s connection to the spirit world and enhance the ability to see past, present and future as a result. The potion is usually quite safe. Sometimes though, best laid plans go awry and all that. She’s had the Mithridatium though and is well on her way to recovery. Give it a week and she should be as right as rain.” 

The King says nothing. She can’t see him but can tell he’s furious, feel the tension in his hand, hear his angry breathing. 

Gathering her scattered wits, she tries to wield her unruly tongue with enough skill to make sense. "How…ong….?" It's all she can manage.

Arthur hesitates before replying, “Nine days.” At Nicola’s visible dismay, he reassures her with forced levity, “Trust me, you haven’t missed much, I almost envy you the rest. More barons and hangers-on than you can swing a dead cat at. I’ve picked up another Knight for my Round Table at Bedivere’s recommendation, some Frankish knight who is enough of a looker to be a welcome addition to any brothel. He’s a bit too devout in my opinion, but he is quite handy with the sword though—even gave George a run for his money, which is no mean feat.”

She drifts while he catches her up on the more irrelevant castle gossip, maintaining a dim hope that she’ll remember some of what he says when she wakes next. He is still angry about the poisonous augury potion she drank, but surely he knows more than most that some risks are worth taking, even if the end result… unexpected. For the first time since waking, she tries to remember exactly what happened in her visions. She has a vague recollection of seeing two distinct paths in Arthur’s future. The first one was the sort of outcome she’d expect given Arthur’s unexpected and dramatic rise to King. He will go down in history as one of the most famous kings in history, both myth and legend combined in one. The second prognostication though… Her breath quickens as she remembers him resting the tiara on her forehead, and she shakes her head to dispel the image of him kissing her. The sudden movement is enough to send an agonizing spike of pain straight to her head and she yanks her hand out of Art’s to curl herself into a ball of misery. “Nnn…. Nnnn…” she moans in denial. She will NOT be the one to hold him back from his destiny.

“What’s happening? What’s wrong with her?” Even through her pain, she is dimly aware of rising alarm in the King’s tone.

“I said she was awake and improving,” Merlin retorts, “not that she was ready to dance a jig. Healing takes time.”

She’s drowning in it now, a rippling paroxysm of mental and physical anguish.

“Can’t you give her something, you daft bastard? Nicola? Come on, girl, you can’t do this to me again.”

“Yes, yes of course, I’m just… ahh here we go, this will ease it. Help me—yes there, tilt her head just so...” Strong arms encircle her, drawing her up until her head lolls back because she lacks the strength to hold it upright. Nicola feels the rim of a cup touch her parched lips and bitter liquid trickles down her throat. “There, there, that’s got it… that should let her rest a bit.”

Consciousness begins to slide away in mere seconds after drinking the elixir and mercifully, takes both pain and the memory of her vision with it.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Mage continues recover from the side effects of her scrying, and accidentally gets the whole castle to come to a garden party.

Her health improves with each passing day, but she feels helpless and it is not a feeling she’s used to. The worst part is when the servants and maids come to tend to her a few times a day. The indignity of being bathed and cleaned like a babe in swaddling is almost too much to bear, especially for someone who is used to being alone. 

One good thing about the maids is that they are an excellent source of information. It’s from them that she learns how well Arthur is settling well into Kinghood. Seeing it through her eagle’s eyes is one thing but hearing it from the point of view of his subjects is far more revealing. The Knights of the Round Table, as they have come to be called, have already moved from the planning to action in regard to helping rebuild Camelot first, and restoring Britain to glory. He is regarded as practical and fair, but there is constant talk about when and whom he will marry to secure his lineage. To that end, the Baron Corineus has brought his daughter Guinevere to court in the hope that Arthur will make her his queen. Widely considered to be one of the most beautiful women in all of Britain, the maids are quite certain she will be an excellent match for the handsome king.

The new knight Lancelot has found quick favor in the court and is a devout follower of Christianity. Despite his handsome appearance, his personal habits are more in line with those of a monk (much to the disappointment of the maids).

Arthur’s proclamation regarding Mages is the only thing he’s done that’s been poorly received. Commoners and nobles alike lost so much to the tyranny of Vortigern and Modred’s invasion under Uther’s reign that they are not willing to accept his ruling immediately and without question. The only Mage that seems to be viewed favorably among Britain’s people is Merlin. In fact, it’s widely assumed that Merlin, not herself, played a major role in helping Arthur reclaim his throne. 

Nicola is fine with that, it helps her maintain relative anonymity. She suspects the maids that have been tending to her think she is also one of the prostitutes that Arthur grew up with, which amuses her, as nothing could be further from the truth in regard to her sexual experience, or lack thereof. 

The room she is in is different from the chambers she was originally bedding in upon her arrival nearly two weeks ago, so at some point she was moved to a different part of the castle. Her new room doesn’t have any windows. There are two doors, the main door and a smaller door in the side wall that she’s never seen anyone use. It is locked from the other side. Keeping the sunlight out is a necessary evil given her light sensitivity, but she still misses her eagle. Merlin is a frequent visitor but is also highly sought after as an advisor, so is often gone for hours at a time. 

Arthur and Blue visit her daily and even regale her with humorous and what she suspects are heavily embellished stories from their past. Nicola can’t seem to help becoming withdrawn from Arthur when he visits, and it probably becomes more pronounced once she regains her vision. It’s bad enough that she is having increasingly vivid dreams about her half-finished augury, ones detailed enough that she can’t even look at him without blushing. Underneath it all is the vague sensation that she is missing something--or has forgotten it outright. 

Five days after she wakes up Nicola has had enough of being cooped up in the same room. Her health has improved enough while her speech is still a little slurred, she can dress herself and make it to the garderobe on her own--albeit on unsteady legs. Awakening just before Lauds, she pulls on a simple dress and slippers, then takes hold of the walking cane she has been using as a steadying tool the past two days. She eases outside of her chamber and closes the door behind her, wincing a little the solid thunk it makes.

The halls to the left and right are empty save for a single servant who is moving away from her, and there is no indication of where a door that might lead outside the castle might be. She follows him, figuring that if he is empty handed, he’s heading toward the kitchens to bring food for one of the other castle denizens. By the time she’s gotten about a hundred paces from her room, she is used up what little energy she has and is on the verge of collapsing.

“Just where do you think you’re going?” Arthur inquires from behind her.

It startles her so much that she would fall over were it not for his quick hands helping steady her. Once she’s not in danger of keeling over, she shakes free of him and takes another determined step. “Out. Outside. I need to see the sky. I need to feel the sun.” After brief consideration, she grumbles, “At this point, even standing in a cold rain would feel good.”

He watches her hobble a few steps further before scooping her up in his arms, ignoring her indignant squawk of protest. “Oh come on, at the rate you were going it’ll be dark by the time you get there.”

He is not wrong, much as it galls her to admit it. She gathers what remains of her dignity and tries to pay attention to her surroundings so she can find her way out again once she is no longer as weak as a kitten. When he carries her from the living quarters into the wide halls of the castle proper, they start to encounter the occasional servant. The reactions upon seeing their king carrying her are comical, to say the least. 

“What, you think this is the strangest thing they’ve seen me do since I got here? You should have seen the looks I got when I told them I didn’t need help getting dressed and then tidied my room on my own. It was quite the scandal.”

Nicola bites back a smile. She imagines it’s been quite an adjustment for all parties involved. “Perhaps they thought they were out of a job.”

“More than likely,” he agrees, grinning himself. He doesn’t sound winded at all, despite the fact that he’s carried her a fair distance. “Times like these, I think they’ve convinced themselves that they’re better off not asking questions.”

The boy Blue emerges from a large side hall carrying a pitcher in one hand, knuckling sleep from his eyes with the other. He does an obvious double take when he catches sight of them and then immediately trots in their direction. “Boss?”

“Morning, Blue,” Arthur responds without breaking pace. “We’ll be taking breakfast in the garden today, if you could alert the kitchen staff.”

“Yes, Boss, I’m on it!” He dashes back off in what she presumes is the direction of the kitchens, gauging from the smells, holding the pitcher with both hands to reduce splashing.

Approaching a set of closed, arched doors, he shifts her in his arms just enough to kick one, commenting, “When I first picked you up, I thought you needed to eat more, but after carrying you all this way, I’m having second thoughts.” A very confused guard opens the door from the outside, staring agape at them.

“Well get out of the way, ya daft bastard.” Arthur pushes past the guard into what are surely the most luxurious gardens she has ever seen. He is panting with effort when he eases her gently down onto a wide stone bench and then sits down beside her. “I’ll be feeling that tomorrow," he rolls his shoulders and stretches his arms out.

“You didn’t have to carry me,” she points out, stubbornly ignoring the fact that the odds of her making it this far without passing out were almost nonexistent. 

“Well, I figured it was either going to be carrying you here or carrying you back to your room after you passed out in the hallway. This seemed the lesser of the two evils for all parties involved.”

The sun has risen enough to cast long shadows in the enormous garden, which has a wide assortment of herbs, flowers, vegetable plants, fruit trees and bushes. Men and women in simple clothing are moving among the plants, gathering food that will be used to prepare meals over the next few days.

A shadow flies over them, eliciting a delighted gasp from Nicola. Her eagle Sirius lands on the limb nearby and warbles, cocking his head to look at her. She uses her cane to get up and hobbles over to him. It’s when she reaches out to scratch his cheek, she suddenly realizes what is missing. The disappointment of not being able to touch the bird’s mind with her own is yet another crushing blow, one that is substantive enough to make her wobble on her feet.

“Whoa now, don’t you go falling out on me again,” Arthur gently chides, gripping her arm until she’s got her balance again. “You’re making a bad habit of this.” He catches sight of her pale face and asks, “What’s wrong? Is he injured or sick? He’s been hanging around the castle since you fell ill, won’t come near anyone though.”

“He’s fine. I’m just….” She casts around with her mind for other animals but has similar results. “I can’t feel him anymore. I can’t feel any of them. I can’t see through his eyes, I’ve lost it.” She is too exhausted and broken to even cry at this point. What good would it do?

“You’ll get it back, just like you did with your sight and speech. It’ll just take time,” he encourages.

She hopes he is right as she sits down on the stone bench again with a heavy sigh, Arthur rejoining her a moment later. Sirius chirps again and then launches himself into the air. They watch him fly off in a widening circle as he catches an updraft when Arthur abruptly asks, “So do I become some kind of monster then?” His casual nonchalance is that of one asking about the weather and it catches her off guard.

“What?” she responds, with no small amount of confusion.

“You think I haven’t noticed? Since you woke up, you won’t even look me in the eye, like you can barely stand the sight of me.” He focuses on plucking a loose thread from his sleeve. “I figure there’s a good reason for it, I just need to know how bad it is.”

“No," the Mage shakes her head, blinking with dismay. “That’s not it at all. You will become a great king. A legend,” she states firmly. Nothing less will do for him if she has any say in the matter. 

“Are you sure? Or did you look away?” he returns, levelling a steady gaze at her.

She does just that, shifting her gaze down and away from him, but is saved from further response by the appearance of Blue. “They’ll be bringing out some scones and tea in no time, Boss. We need anything else?” The boy looks between the two adults, canny enough to sense he’s got either very good or very bad timing, but not quite sure which it is.

Arthur gets to his feet, looking around the garden. “Maybe set up some chairs and a table. Might as well make a day out of it since the weather is good.” 

“Yep, no problem, Boss. I’m on it!” Before he dashes off, the boy grins at her, “Glad to see you out and about, ma’am.”

“Thank you, Blue,” she replies with a smile. 

On his way inside, Blue passes Merlin barreling out the door and then flinging his hands in the air with relief. “There you are! Young lady, I’ll have you know I’ve searched half the bloody castle trying to find you! Even looked under the bed—just in case,” he scolds.

Arthur seems less than pleased by the other man’s arrival, and to her in a low voice, “We’ll pick up on this subject later.”

Nicola winces a little but still nods. “Yes, Your Majesty.”

That earns her a baleful glare. “Now don’t you start with that too. Just Art. Or Arthur if you’re feeling more formal. Just not that.”

“Sorry.” She means it, too, aware he is clinging to any sense of normalcy he can. But she is also honest enough to point out, “But there will be times that I have no choice but to refer to you by your title.” When he grimaces at the truth in her words, she continues, “However, Arthur, this is not one of those times.” It’s the first time she has spoken his name and it seems overly familiar even though she has known him for months now.

“Morning, my boy,” Merlin slaps him on the back. “Lovely day, what a splendid idea, spending the day outside.”

“Thank her, not me. She’s the one who wanted to come outside. And was rather insistent about it too.”

“Ha! Of that I have no doubt, that girl can be as stubborn as a mule. Reminds me of a time when she was a little girl, oh she couldn’t have been much more than four years old....”

Nicola wanders away at that point, having no interest in hearing that particular story again, though she will admit it is a fine example of how recalcitrant she was as a child. She finds herself among the herbs and settles in to prune and weed, finding the mundane task strangely relaxing. 

They end up making a whole day of it, tables set up with food, more chairs and benches brought from inside. The entire castle ends up joining them, noble hangers-on and servants alike, with children running around trailing colorful festive ribbons, a pair of minstrels playing cheerful tunes on lute and pipes. She is uncomfortable being around such a crowd of people but not so much that she is willing to go inside to avoid the festivities. 

Merlin is quite popular, which is of no surprise to her. The old man has an exceptional gift of gab and is always ready with a funny story or interesting tale. She’s learned over the years   
that he is quite proficient at playing the eccentric old man and putting people at ease. It gives him a healthy advantage in surreptitiously drawing out information from them.

Later in the evening, she is nibbling on a thick crusty roll when a flash of gold catches her eye. She turns her head to look at an exquisitely beautiful woman who is moving through the crowd with uncommon grace, smiling and greeting people while under the watchful gaze of an older man who can only be her father. Wavy curls of flaxen gold cascade down past her shoulders, her eyes are as green as the finest of emeralds, skin smooth as a babes, teeth white as pearls. At the sight of the woman who will be queen, Nicola can’t help herself, her gaze immediately seeks out Arthur in the throng of people. He’s staring right at her, a knowing look in his eyes, as though she has just confirmed what he had suspected. 

She shifts her eyes away and they happen to land on a man she’s seen before—again, in her visions. He is tall, dark-haired and handsome, his upright carriage well suited to that of a man with a military background. This must be Lancelot, and she is quick to notice her eyes aren’t the only feminine eyes drawn to the attractive young knight. One young baron’s daughter almost swoons when he gives her a distracted nod.

The Mage darts another glance at Arthur to find he is still watching her, but his brow is furrowed in a distinct frown. A pair of crotchety old men in noble garb are nattering in his ear, trying to gain favor no doubt.

From her bench seat on the edge of the garden, she watches Guinevere and Lancelot move through the crowd, curious to see if there is any sign of their impending liaison. They meet in passing just once, exchange a brief and presumably courteous greeting, and move on. There is no indication of anything untoward there, not yet anyway. But there will be, eventually. 

Before long, she finds her lids drooping as exhaustion finally takes over her. The impromptu gathering is starting to wind down as the sun sinks on the horizon, people slowly making their way inside. Blue, who has been tending to her all day, appears with a castle guard, a thick torsoed giant of a man with a kind face and rich chestnut skin. 

"Art told us to help you back to your room. Silas here is going to carry you." The boy has an anticipatory gleam in his eyes.

Flushing, Nicola demurs, "Thank you, but I’ll be fine.”

Blue grins, “Boss said you’d say that. He said to insist on helping you. And to tell you that Silas is an old friend and is strong. And a fella you can trust.” The dark man gives her a reassuring smile.

She wavers. It really is quite a long distance and it’s been a good but tiring day. She isn’t in any shape to attempt the walk back to her room without help. The halls will be more crowded than they were this morning when there was just an occasional servant, and the thought of being seen carried around with all the grace of a sack of grain is not setting well with her. “Again, it’s very kind of you to offer, but I can walk back on my own.”

“He said you’d say that too,” the boy’s smile broadens even more. “So now I’m ‘sposed to say that if you insist on being as stubborn as a goat, that I’m to go tell him, so he can come carry you to your rooms himself.”

Nicola’s mouth opens and then snaps it shut. “So… Silas, is it?”

The big guard nods and bends down to pick her up with far more care than Arthur had used. “I remember where I’ve seen you before—at George’s training yards?”

He bows his head a little but doesn’t say anything. Blue, who is walking along beside them, explains, “Silas is a mute so he ain't exactly much of a talker, that’s why he’s got me to talk for him. He can talk with his hands though, it just takes some practice to learn the words. Anyway, we couldn’t have any of those stinking Blacklegs still hangin’ around, could we, so Art replaced most of the castle staff and guards with people we knew back home in Londinium, you know, from the Red Poppy and George’s place.” 

The boy chatters away and for the second time that day, the Mage is carried through the long halls. As expected, they pass more people and the odd looks the unlikely trio receives are enough that Nicola ends up just closing her eyes to avoid the stares all together. Of course the end result of that is she just nods off when the long day finally catches up with her.


End file.
